


Tribute

by jottingprosaist (jane_potter)



Series: The Dragon of Blue Caldera [2]
Category: Dragon Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Come Inflation, Deep anal, Dehumanization, Forced Orgasm, Knotting, Large Cock, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magical transition accidentally causes constant arousal, Orgasm Denial, Oviposition, Painful Sex, Rimming, Trans Male Character, Xenophilia, with a big long monster tongue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_potter/pseuds/jottingprosaist
Summary: Diorite the dragon finally has a chalice, a living treasure to hoard and train and use. There are complications to keeping a human alive, but he's willing to put up with the fuss. And now that he's had a taste of treasure, he wantsmore.
Relationships: Dragon/Knight, Dragon/Princess
Series: The Dragon of Blue Caldera [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711816
Comments: 50
Kudos: 245





	1. The Chalice

A chalice was much harder to take care of than it seemed. Diorite would never, ever tell Orthoclase or Aegirine they had been right.

His new chalice nearly died on the first night. Reassured that his healing magic had done its work no matter how hard he’d ravaged the little human, Diorite had curled up on his pile to lick his cloaca and blissfully doze off. In the middle of the night he’d been woken by the sound of rattling chain. He’d found his chalice curled up in the dirt clutching the torn scraps of its clothes over cold-blanched skin, violently shivering and blue in the lips.

After some panicky questions at the nearly insensate squire, he had torn up a large boulder from the lakeshore and dragged it into his cave, then bathed the stone with flame until it had cracked open and glowed red. The squire had huddled in the radiance all night, alternately chafing its cold flesh and darting flinchy little glances at Diorite, who had watched hawkishly from his pile, half expecting it to flop over dead at any moment.

“I need fire,” it said in the morning, when Diorite had tossed a generous number of fat green fish at its feet. “It’s too cold. My clothes… I need a fire.”

“There’s a rock.”

It had stared, flat eyed and hollow. “If you want me alive.”

Diorite had huffed out and ripped some branches from the deadfall around the caldera that he hadn’t completely burned to ash. “More,” the squire kept insisting, feeding twigs into the smoky little blaze kindled in the crack of the boulder. “I’ll need enough for tonight.”

Now there was what seemed like half a tree piled in the entrance of his cave. Whenever it wasn’t occupied by squirming on Diorite’s cock, the squire huddled there and broke branches and poked at the fire. Watched him all the while with those darting eyes, jumping and twitching every time he moved.

But it _did_ spent a great deal of time on his cock. Diorite’s eyes slitted at the thought of how many times he’d fucked his lovely new chalice in the recent days. That was _indubitably_ worth the fuss of keeping it alive.

At first it had screamed and struggled every time he snagged it for a fuck. He had to drag it over by the ankle until it was stretched out on the ground between chained wrists and pinioned legs. Slapping its quim and pinching its tender spots would eventually make it comply, but that was a bother Diorite didn’t want when his cloaca was throbbing.

On the third day Diorite had grown so frustrated with the melodrama that he had dug another few lengths of chain from his hoard and wrapped them around the squire’s ankles, stretching its legs far apart and pinning the chain to stone with marlinspikes. He’d kept it spread-eagled on its stomach all day and fucked it as often as possible, until its constant screaming quieted to groans and his cock was chafed.

By sunset it had become a loose, dripping mess. The dirt between its legs had been a flooded puddle littered with expelled eggs, some crushed underfoot or by the pounding of his cock. As Diorite licked his cloaca clean for the last time, he’d watched another few eggs slowly push out of the squire’s arse, their soft leathery shells not a stretch for its slack entrance.

Diorite had padded over to look it in the eye. It had lain still with its face half-hidden in the dirt, drooling and snotty, one eye staring glassily out at the sunset-gold lake. Its breath had bubbled slow and strained, every breath a wheeze of pain. He was satisfied that it seemed properly tamed.

“And you come every time,” Diorite had murmured. He’d delicately licked its face, its nose, its mouth, and it only barely gagged on his intruding tongue. “You know there’s no need for such a fuss. Just let me use you, pretty thing.”

He’d licked out its arsehole, too, not especially enamoured with the taste of his own fluids but intrigued by the swollen, red-hot silk of its depths. And it seemed only compassionate to help tongue out a few more of his eggs. His chalice had had a difficult day.

He’d tugged out the marlinspikes, sent a generous pulse of healing magic through the squire’s limp body, and pawed a heap of branches onto the last smoking embers of the fire. Then, gloriously exhausted, he’d gone off to sleep.

In the morning he’d found his squire curled up by the renewed fire, still naked and filthy but aware. Hearing Diorite rouse, it had flinched and begun to cry. But it had nonetheless rolled onto its belly and lay there slack beside the fire, snuffling its noise against an arm, waiting for him.

“Very good,” he rumbled, nuzzling its buttocks. He only licked out its swollen, abused arsehole and gave it another rewarding pulse of magic before flying off for the day.

He gave the squire another few days to recover from the ordeal, not just because he didn’t think he had another squirt of slick in him. He had no intention of wearing out his chalice so soon. And there were, Diorite discovered, _other_ things to do than fuck it.

Even when its arsehole was swollen scarlet and the squire whimpered through relieving itself in a niche of the cave (which Diorite regularly scorched black and clean), its quim wanted attention. The witch’s potion that had given it a cock and taken its breasts had left it in a heat unabating. At first Diorite hardly noticed, as the cave smelled headily of sex and the squire’s holes were always dripping from use. But one day he woke in cold grey dawn to the noise of messy rubbing and stifled, grunting strain.

“What’s this?” he rumbled, and the squire screamed in alarm. It nearly kicked the guttering fire as it scrambled back against the wall. “Hungry, chalice? Need my cock so early?”

“No, please! I don’t, I don’t want…” It tried to hold shut its knees against his prodding snout. “Leave me alone. God, _please_.”

“So perfect. I love how you drip for me.”

“It’s not about you!” the squire shouted. Out of nowhere its heel slammed into Diorite’s brow, knocking his head aside. He staggered in shock.

He narrowed his eyes and swung his head slowly back, a guttural rumbling in his throat. White-faced, the squire shrank back against the wall.

“But it is _for_ me,” Diorite growled. “You’re mine. Everything about you is mine. This—” He scratched one soft nipple and relished the stifled scream— “—this—” the vulnerable belly— “and this, chalice.” His paw pressed the squire’s leg outward, revealing its erect cock. It let him, no doubt afraid of the claws resting on its thigh. “The gift I gave you. All mine.”

The squire slumped, staring teary-eyed at the ceiling. “I wasn’t supposed to drink it so fast,” it whispered. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“And now you want. You _need_.”

“Nnh.” He dug his claws in. “ _Yes_ …”

“You want to fuck with that.”

“God, _yes_.” Its voice choked with frustration and despair.

“Poor creature. It’s so lovely, burying your cock in a nice tight hole.” He was proud, a little, of the way that made the squire snarl. It still didn’t fight when he rearranged its position, pulled it flat on its back and pushed its knees open wide.

“It’s early. I’m tired.” Diorite flopped down on the floor with his snout a few inches from its delicious salty quim. “Show me how you fuck yourself.”

The squire lifted its head and _stared_. Diorite traced a delicate circle on its foot with one needle-sharp iron claw.

It flopped back in frustration and defeat. Sniffing, it slid its sticky fingers between its legs and began to roughly rub.

“How does it feel?”

“Fucking _fine_.”

He pinched its ankle. “ _How?_ You sound so desperate, sweet. Tell me. Or I can help you find words.”

“Nngh. It’s… I don’t know… It’s so much. It’s… all the time… too much. I can’t even touch it.” It was rubbing the thick base of its cock, avoiding the swollen red tip. Even in its anger, need began to seep back in, making its movements faster. Its quim wetter. “I can’t… stop feeling… _rrrgh_. I hate you. I _hate_ you!”

Diorite laughed in delight. The squire flinched but kept rubbing. “What about these?” His tail tip trailed over its flat chest, a puffy nipple.

“They _hurt_.”

“Still?”

“So much. It won’t stop. All the time, I just… hhh, just… _fuuuck_...” It changed the angle of its hand, getting a desperate grip around the shaft and starting to pull, then squeeze. It didn’t seem to know yet how to pleasure its new cock.

“Going to come for me?”

“Fuck you!”

Diorite laughed and stuck his tongue out to tickle its slit. “Going to scream?”

“ _Uh-hhhhhuh_ …”

It humped its hips toward his tongue, rage in its strangled growls but too desperate to withhold. Diorite only gave it the tip of his tongue, wriggling just between those silky folds, until the squire finally broke and stuffed its own fingers in. Two fingers hooked inside its quim, both hands clasped hard over its groin, and it whined and humped its hands until it came in messy, violent squirts. Its heels stuttered against the dirt until the ecstasy passed and its legs fell open, trembling. How like a creature’s death throes, and yet _not_. What a delightful writhing dance he could make his chalice do for him.

“You did this to me,” the squire accused raggedly, looking down at its red throbbing cock and the sticky flood between its legs. “You… you…”

“Mine,” Diorite purred, and thrust his tongue fully inside. He had to hold the squire down with a paw over its belly in order to lick out every trace of delicious salt from that hot, still-squeezing tunnel.

There was still a blockage in the quim, an end. His tongue wasn’t sensitive enough to make out any detail, any hidden nooks his cock might plunge.

He had time to figure it out. The best his cloaca could do this morning was a half-hearted twinge. Perhaps he’d see about finding something like that rod Orthoclase had stuffed in her chalice’s mouth. Maybe his just needed more practice stretching.

They were so easily damaged, humans were. Diorite was constantly finding new bruises, new scrapes. Blue-black blossoms on its knees and hips. Weeping blisters where its manacles chafed. It seemed tiny scratches bled everywhere his scales touched. He was disgruntled that his rugged, impenetrable hide should make handling his chalice such a trial. Smooth snakelike Aegirine had no such difficulty.

“I need clothes,” the squire insisted, gingerly rubbing an ankle Diorite had healed.

“I like you naked.”

“Then I need more firewood.”

“There’s a pile.”

“ _Bigger_ wood. These branches burn too fast.” It looked over at his hoard, all the steel and iron piled carefully beyond reach of the limits of its chain. “If you give me a hatchet I can split logs myself.”

There was no hiding the avarice in its eyes. Dragons were greedy to the soul and they knew better than anyone what they had to defend against.

Diorite laughed in its face. “Give you an axe, chalice? Give you a weapon, little squire? I think not. You want to split my skull in the middle of the night.”

Its lips drew up in a blunt ivory snarl. Gimlet-eyed in a grimy face, it insisted flatly, “I’m _cold_.”

“You’re in my hoard,” Diorite said, turning away. “And I let you have your little burn, just to make you feel better.”

“It’s not a joke! I need this fire or I’ll die.”

“What for?” he demanded crossly. He circled his pile, seeking a position that would let him stretch and prop up his wings. He’d flown far that day, seeking gold, and returned with nothing but a half-chewed elk for his trouble.

“I’m _cold_. It’s _hot_. It keeps me warm.”

“Metal is hot. I have plenty.”

“What? No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. Fire is nothing! It’s not even a thing. It’s a reaction, a momentary state. It burns soft fleshy things— like _you_. How can it keep you alive?”

“It does,” the squire insisted with a scowl.

Diorite rolled his eyes. He clawed over the elk carcass and dug his snout into the ribcage for organs, too tired to chew on bones. Just to be obstinate, the squire took the hind leg he’d tossed it and propped it clumsily over the fire, insisting on ‘warming’ its meat before it ate. It pried off blackened pieces with a stick and ate with difficulty, hissing in pain. Burning itself. Stubborn thing.

“I wouldn’t have to bother you for wood if I had an axe.”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t even have to unchain me. You could chain me by the leg.”

“ _No_.”

It spat gristle and wiped its mouth angrily, smearing grease across a grimy cheek. “I need a _bath_.”

“ _Stop your bleating_!” Diorite roared.

His unintentional spit of sparks made the squire flinch and finally shut up. It sniffled a bit as it ate its roasted meat, which Diorite ignored, and then dropped the haunch in the dirt and curled up beside the fire and lay still. He irritably watched it shiver and breathe, its little face bathed in flickering light. He couldn’t read what was behind the eyes staring vacantly into the flames.

His cave walls looked unfamiliar filled with firelight, the stalactites dancing archaic shadow spells. The blackness outside the entrance felt deeper, his cavern snugger and more secure.

Still too empty, though. He needed more to fill the space. Not iron. _Gold_.

The next day, after returning tired but gratified with a mouthful of tarnished silver bracelets, Diorite forced open the squire’s manacles and let it stumble out to the lake. The little thing _did_ sort of smell, and it was unpleasantly caked with fluids it had tried to rub off with dirt. Lacking fire breath, claws, or a suitable tongue, it apparently couldn’t clean itself well.

This time the squire didn’t attempt to swim away, though he watched it like a hawk for any sign of escape. It stumbled into the water, sank down to its neck, and for a while just knelt there and stared vacantly across the lake.

Diorite could see nothing but blue sky and rippling waves and the grey caldera wall. He nudged it to get on with business.

The squire flinched, scowled, and kicked deeper into the lake. It splashed around in the water for a long time, glancing at Diorite and busily scrubbing its hair and body every time he tapped his claws on the rocks. Eventually he had to start wading in after it to make it scramble out of the lake.

“Wait,” he said, as the human started reluctantly picking its way back to the cave. It looked up in undisguised _hope_.

There was a big, sun-warmed boulder some distance down the shore, basalt washed silky smooth by the lake’s lapping waves. It wasn’t large enough for lounging, but to the human it was substantial. Just as Diorite had thought, his chalice looked lovely draped over the black stone, its muscular back and tight buttocks and spread thighs glistening in the sun. And its arse was, at long last, a perfect height to fuck.

Since the squire had just washed away all its slick, Diorite had to fuck its quim first, working his egg sac into enough of a state to start leaking fluid. Then he could finally press deep into its tight squeezing arse. He fucked it slow this time, tender, easing his tapered cockhead in and rocking gently for a while to fill its passage with slick before he pressed in another little bit. These days it was almost easy to thrust his cock past that bend in the squire’s guts, though it made the squire wail. Its body had been re-made for him. Settling in to the hilt so his knot could swell felt like coming home.

The squire moaned and writhed atop the boulder the whole way through. Diorite had come to recognize the tenor of its noises, and these were ordinary distress: frustration, despair, submission, mild pain. And… the ongoing arousal of its neglected quim. He’d felt it orgasm once but evidently that wasn’t enough.

“Shhh, chalice,” Diorite soothed, oh so carefully sliding his claws through its hair. His orgasm had peaked and he was blissfully rocking, pulsing eggs and slick into its arse. “Never fear, I’ll see to you. I take care of what’s mine.”

“It’s too _much_ ,” the squire whimpered, trying to arch. “God, it’s… deep… _Uh_ …”

After Diorite withdrew, his cock slipping back into his cloaca, the squire lay draped across the boulder, its legs shaking too hard to stand. It clenched hard and forced out several eggs, _pop pop pop_ through its hole.

Diorite crouched and slipped his tongue into its quim. He had developed a certain fascination with all the things that made his chalice writhe.

“ _Uh! Uhhh_ … Fuck… I hate you so much. I hate you. I… _fuck_ …”

Diorite didn’t terribly mind, as it was riding his tongue hard. He snickered smugly and wormed around.

“God, please— I need—” It broke and thrust a hand between its legs to rub its cock. Diorite licked in deep.

The squire clenched hard around him, grunting with strain, and several more eggs squelched out of its arse. One bounced off Diorite’s snout. His own slick dribbled into his mouth.

Diorite snorted but didn’t jerk back. The squire was making more urgent noise now, rocking its hips between involuntary straining pushes, seemingly torn between the need to fill one hole and empty another. In the end it did both, the violent clutch of its orgasm forcing out a long gush of eggs and slick as it spasmed around Diorite’s tongue. When it was over the squire lay sobbing noisily against the rock, seemingly more wrecked by this pleasure than the initial fuck.

Diorite sprawled down on the hot stone beach and let it cry itself out. The sun was beautiful this afternoon.

The squire eventually stumbled back into the lake. Diorite lazily watched as beneath the water it fingered the last of his eggs out of its arse, gasping and swearing in whispers. Delicate things, those hands. So soft and little.

When a cloud drifted over the sun, he took it inside and chained it back up. “Good chalice,” he said. “Behave and I’ll let you swim again soon.”

“You’ve got so many things,” the squire said one evening, out of the blue. Diorite twitched his ear, startled, his jaws stilling on the squire's much-gnawed leather belt. When it wasn’t making demands for food or wood, his chalice never spoke.

The squire swallowed hard. “Where’s that from?” it asked tentatively, pointing at the rust-scabbed cauldron Diorite had returned with that day. With some scouring he thought it would hold a shine.

“A castle,” he said evasively, neglecting that he meant one of the ruined towers on the Caldera’s forested eastern slope. Humans had picked over the stones long before the territory had become his.

“There’s a lot,” the squire said, looking around the cave. “There’s… that’s an armoury of iron. You could keep a smith in ore for years.”

Diorite looked around his meagre hoard with fresh eyes. He supposed… to a human it probably was a great deal. More than they could hoard in their little lives. He puffed up a bit.

“Is that a chandelier?”

“A what?”

“A… that thing, under the rest. It’s for candles, like… for light. You hang it up and…” The squire made vague gestures at the stalactite-crusted ceiling. “Do you need light in the dark?”

“No. Do you? Sweet thing. It’s a wonder how you all survive.” But he was intrigued. Orthoclase didn’t have a chandelier, probably, he thought. “How does it work?”

“You have to hang it up, and then you put candles on it. You’d need chain… you could use this.” The squire offered the length of chain trailing from its wrists.

“I have others,” Diorite said distractedly. He dropped the belt and got up to nose at the wrought-iron wheel and its branching arms. “It was on the floor when I found it.”

“Probably it fell.” The squire picked at the dirt, looked around again. “You’ve got money, too.”

Brightening, Diorite went digging into another heap. “And this,” he said, retrieving a very polished copper urn. He dropped it at the squire’s feet and nudged it closer, ignoring how the silly thing squeaked. “Look how lovely the carvings are. Beautiful work.”

“Yes. Oh… yes, it’s very…”

“And this one!” Diorite quickly returned with a steel kite shield, enamelled black and crimson with barely any claw marks on it.

“You’ve got… so many.” The squire looked around at the heaps of battered armour and broken arms. “Did you kill all those knights?”

Diorite grinned just to see the squire flinch. “Many,” he promised. It wasn’t a lie; he had killed his share. More than this halfway-almost-knight had. That most of his hoard had been scavenged from carrion was irrelevant.

“And— that’s King Heward’s unification bell!” the squire said quickly, pointing over Diorite’s shoulder. “You were the one that took it?”

“It was in a tower,” Diorite said, somewhat befuddled. He went over to nose the cracked bronze bell, which lay greening and half-buried in a heap of rusty iron mail. Ought he move it somewhere more prominent?

A _king’s_ bell. That sounded good. He’d found it broken in the shaft of a half-fallen belfry, in a tumbledown ruin so old that there were no timbers and barely any walls. Fields had grown up and into the building. Diorite had barely cared to haul off such a heavy chunk of garbage, but metal was metal and his hoard was too small.

“They left it like it was worthless,” he huffed, rubbing at the verdigris.

“We left it in the _church_ ,” the squire said. “Pilgrims used to go every year. They still do. King Eadric said he’d ennoble anyone who brought it back.”

“Hm.”

He sniffed the bell again, relishing the scent of clean bronze under the verdigris. And he smelled something else.

Tail curling, he turned back to the squire. It squirmed beneath his stare, squeezing its thighs together in shame. It knew he could scent the trickling heat of its quim.

“My needy chalice,” Diorite murmured, reaching out for its ankle. “Come here and I’ll make you spend a few times before I fill you up.”

The squire gave a broken moan and let him pull it down flat on the ground. Spread its legs for mounting.

Red-faced and trickling tears, it bit its lip to keep silent until Diorite had his bulging cockhead wedged in all the way deep. He knew by now how to work its quim expertly, how to angle its pelvis up so that his cock struck the front wall of its quim and made it yelp. Soon enough the squire had given in, wrapped its legs around his flanks, and squeezed him ferociously until it came screaming and squirting around his cock.

“That’s right,” Diorite purred, not slowing a moment to force it toward a second peak. “Slick it up.”

The squire did. Oh, beautiful thing.

The third time it couldn’t squirt any more, only spasmed and cursed and tried to push him away. By then Diorite was excited enough that he couldn’t wait to work his cock all the way into its arse; he simply gripped the base of his cock— rough and spindly, but _enough_ — and pumped his eggs into its quim, then all over its stomach when it screamed and struggled off his cock. That familiar manual release became newly exciting when he had a chalice to leave gasping in the mess of his seed.

“God, you— you put them inside me. I can’t…”

“Hm?”

The squire gave a ragged sob. “Are you going to get me with child?”

Diorite laughed. “Not unless you’re part dragon already. It takes two. We’re not the sort of creature that plants seed everywhere. Or have you got magic to make yourself fruitful for me? Hm?”

“ _No_.”

“Then no.” He didn’t much care for the idea of offspring now. It was nice watching the squire grimace and force his eggs out of its quim, though. He liked seeing its pearl-glazed folds spread and stretch until another fat sphere popped out. And another. And another.

A long while afterwards, unexpectedly, the squire asked, “Is this it?”

“Hm?” Diorite swivelled an ear, distracted by chasing the salt of human cum in the crevices of his cloaca.

The squire was still staring up at the ceiling. For once it seemed not inclined to dramatics. Numb.

“Is this it?” it repeated. “Is this all you want? You’re just going to… fuck me and fuck me and fuck me until… forever?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Diorite said, pleased that it finally understood.

“That’s all you do with your life? Grub for gold and rape humans and sleep?”

“Not any human,” he said gently, ignoring its insinuation— _grub for gold_ indeed. “Just you, chalice. You’re my favourite one. Forever.”


	2. The Squire

“My name,” the squire kept insisting, “is Gwareth. I’m not a chalice.”

Now that it talked, it wouldn’t shut up.

“Yes you are,” said Diorite, who was in the middle of counting all his gold coin into a cauldron. It overflowed the ewer he had once counted it in but didn’t nearly fill the cauldron.

“No I’m not. I’m a person. My name is Gwareth. I’m the squire of Sir Owain of Ronannor.”

“Listen—”

“Gwareth.”

“Chalice,” Diorite snapped.

But the squire wouldn’t stop distracting him until Diorite rolled it over and fucked it roughly into the dirt, holding its hips up and its head down until all its strength was spent on gasping and trying to keep its face from grinding against rock.

“You are my chalice,” Diorite murmured, his knot pulsing in its arse. “I own you. Fuck you. Fill you. You’re my pretty thing to use.”

He left the scrapes on its cheek to heal naturally. The reaming made it meek and compliant for a few days, at least.

Then one evening he tossed a fish at it with a sighed, “For my picky little creature,” and it muttered, “Gwareth.”

Diorite looked at it sharply. It hunched down but didn’t repent. There was a mulish set to its jaw that he was seeing more and more.

A name was a stupid thing to fight over. He didn’t care to bother. His chalice lifted its arse and spread on command, and that was what was important; it would learn the rest in time.

The squire had other fool ideas about words. “I’m a man,” it snarled, kicking at his face, when Diorite once rumbled how glad he was to have captured half a princess. The overreaction was unusually bold.

“What’s a man?” he demanded, after he had finished with its arse. “You said that before.”

“I’m a man. Not a princess. No matter—” It broke off and glared, hunching lower in the lake.

“Yes, but what’s _that_?”

“Half the people in the world are men.”

“The other half?”

“Women. And some like dryads: in between.”

What wood sprites had to do with humans, Diorite couldn’t imagine. He just knew they were a hassle when he burned the wrong tree and their splinters took forever to cough up if one was stupid enough to take a bite. “What about the knights and squires?”

“Mostly men, but some women.”

“And princesses?”

“All women.”

“No,” Diorite insisted, “some princesses are farmers, too.”

And it took a very, very long time to sort out that what Gwareth _meant_ , mostly— mostly— was to do with what sort of human had a quim or a cock. Some didn’t have cocks at all, which Diorite thought bizarre and felt mildly sorry about. But Gwareth confused the issue by saying that actually a man _could_ have a quim, like himself, so it seemed to Diorite like the distinction didn’t matter at all.

Gwareth seemed equally frustrated by Diorite’s insistence that there were all different kinds of knights. As a dragon, Diorite rather thought himself the expert. But the squire launched into a lengthy and impassioned explanation of a knight’s training, duties, and rights, and Diorite listened, somewhat intrigued and somewhat irate that his knowledge might be lacking. By this time they were sitting back in the cave and Gwareth was drying off beside the fire, unselfconscious and unafraid for once.

“Of course I know that not every knight is a _man_ ,” Diorite snapped at last, though as of that morning he’d known no such thing. “But every man is a knight. They, they all have weapons, they mostly have armour— even a farmer knight will attack if can.”

“A farmer man. Fighting off a dragon doesn’t make him a knight. A knight has undergone rigorous training, taken a sacred oath to—”

“Yes, yes, all right,” Diorite snapped. Obviously he understood that there was a difference between a farmer knight and a _true_ knight, a traditional one. Everyone knew that. But all humans, at the core, wanted to be dragon-slayers. And dragons would never forget that.

Diorite snapped one manacle back on its wrist. The squire jerked hard— possessed for a moment, it seemed, with a sudden urge to resist— and then Diorite clicked shut the second manacle and the moment passed.

Silent, it sat down on the floor.

Diorite stumped out to hunt something to eat before sunset. That night he burned off the last of the living forest inside the caldera.

Having a chalice of his own had awakened something inside him: a drive he’d not unearthed before. Previously his hunger to build his hoard had been instinct, nearly habit. A thing he did because it was what dragons did. But now, as if tasting true treasure had awakened his lust, Diorite realized he wanted _more_.

He didn’t want to scrounge for rusty iron on old battlefields or sieve ponds for lost silver. He wanted _gold_. He wanted it _all_. And he simply had to go get it.

The Blue Caldera loomed, quiet but omnipresent, over a vast tract of forest and empty vales that Diorite called his own. Far to the west was Aegirine’s den, and far, _far_ to the south and east was Orthoclase— most of that intervening land being theirs, not his. North easterly, across a river, was unclaimed land.

Unclaimed by dragons. Humans were there, of course. They were everywhere.

And they were so very good at collecting gold of their own.

Ignoring the twinge of uncertainty in his stomach, Diorite winged across the wide Battle River. He had spent plenty of time on its shores, searching its stream pools for treasure washed down from Orthoclase’s domain. Much of the time he received bodies, the remnants of slaughter. But he was done with her scraps. He had to venture across.

These lands were unplundered. These humans were his.

The first building Diorite came across had a belfry and cupola, and it _reeked_ of gold. He couldn’t believe he’d never smelled it before.

His black wings were nearly invisible against the still-purple morning sky. The sleepy clearing knew nothing of his arrival until he _gonged_ heavily into the bell in the tower, scrabbling for grip on its surface and hissing in lust and excitement. Hot heady bronze filled his senses, edged with the ecstatic spike of gold engraving around the bell’s voluminous lip.

Gripping the rim of the bell with his back paws, Diorite rocked it violently back and forth as he clawed at the ropes binding it to the beam.

Below him there was shouting. Voices echoed up the belfry, then came from outside. Humans, panicking— but not many.

A shaft of light flared up the belfry. The bell jerked beneath him, nearly knocking him off. The human below yanked the bellpull again and shouted.

Diorite changed his mind, severed the last of the ropes, and let the bell fall. There was a thunderous _CLANG_ that overrode a much softer, almost irrelevant, crunchy _squish_.

By the time he launched out of the belfry and circled the building, the clearing was empty. The handful of humans had fled into the forest. He glided in for a landing on the dewy grass and eagerly nosed open the large doors they had left ajar.

Inside the building was stone, wood, and _gold_. Iron too— nails and hinges and curtain rods and bowls— but gold was what he cared for. Diorite slithered in hissing with excitement, knocking aside the benches that filled the hall.

Treasure glittered overhead. There were two big silver wheels suspended from the ceiling, both dripping stalactites of wax. Diorite stared in fascination. Chandeliers really were supposed to hang.

Too eager to wrestle down one of those, Diorite dove for the altar at the front. It was a riot of glittering riches. He festooned his horns with gold chains, most attached to perfume-reeking little pots, and wrapped one foreleg in a swath of marvellous gold silk. There was a solid gold candelabra that he snatched carefully with his teeth; the taste made him drool. Then he shouldered into the belfry and dragged the bell awkwardly out of the building, leaving a smear of blood the whole way. It took him three tries to launch with the heavy bell in his back paws, but soon he was streaking back to the Caldera, shrieking with triumphant joy.

It wasn’t even dawn yet.

“Rouse yourself, chalice,” he purred as he slithered into his cave. Gwareth jolted awake, snuffling in alarm and confusion. Diorite had scarcely shed half of his burden of gold before he was upon Gwareth, grinding his engorged cloaca against its soft hip until his cock slid out. “I am king of the land.”

The next day Diorite dug out his dusty iron chandelier. Eventually, after prodding the squire for direction, he managed to suspend it from stakes driven into the ceiling. It creaked gently between stalactites like a black iron crown. Spreading his hoard up… that was a whole new direction for display.

The fine gold chains Diorite had retrieved were hooked to small perforated pots that reeked of resin and flowers. One popped open and showered him with ash that made Diorite sneeze so violently that his head hurt. Still he spent a happy time festooning the chandelier until it sparkled to his liking, and soon the scent cleared out.

“Plundering a church…” the squire mumbled near the wall. It had stretched out a foot to scrape at something on the floor: one of the sticks of beeswax that had fallen from his new candelabra.

“That’s mine,” Diorite snapped.

Gwareth dragged the stick in reach and snatched it. “You don’t need it,” it said hurriedly. “It’s not even gold, it’s just for light. I need it.”

“What is it?”

“A candle. Look, here.” It stuck one end of the taper into the embers of its ever-smoking fire and a small perfect flame bloomed. Gwareth wedged the taper carefully between two rocks near the wall and looked at Diorite with pleading eyes.

“You and your fires,” Diorite laughed. His breath scattered the candle flame into coils of smoke. “Hm. Shall I be generous?”

“Yes…” said Gwareth cautiously. “Please?”

His hoard was richer than it had ever been and he had plans to return for more treasure that night. Feeling powerful and magnanimous, Diorite lay down in front of Gwareth and stretched out comfortably on his side, displaying every inch of his might. Without even asking the squire’s eyes went to Diorite’s belly, though his cloaca was currently closed and invisible.

“Show me something impressive,” Diorite ordered, resting his chin on folded paws to watch Gwareth. “And I’ll let you have your little light.”

Gwareth’s expression shuttered. After a moment, it lay down with its knees open and slowly reached a hand between its legs.

“No. Something new.” Playfully, Diorite slapped his tail hard across Gwareth’s bare quim. The squire screamed and jerked away.

“ _What,_ ” Gwareth demanded tearfully, covering his groin.

“You tell me. Impress me, chalice.”

“ _Gwareth_.”

Diorite’s tail twitched again.

“All right!” Gwareth scrambled to its feet. “All _right_ , fine, I’ll…” It looked around the cave as if _somewhere_ there would be an answer.

Inescapably its eyes fell back to Diorite’s exposed belly. It swallowed hard and went to its knees.

The squire had never touched Diorite of its own accord before. Now it crawled cautiously closer, its face pinched and unhappy. Its first reluctant touch— a palm pressed just above his cloaca— was so light that Diorite couldn’t even feel it through his scales. But he waited.

The scales of his belly were only slightly smoother than on the rest of his body, and around his cloaca they were smaller, the tissue thinner and more elastic. Underneath he had to be very soft, of course, for fucking and being fucked and— one day— birthing a clutch. (Which would be a far-off eventuality if Diorite had anything to say about it.) With its small clever fingers, Gwareth explored until it found the seam where Diorite’s scales parted. One fingertip slipped in and it drew a sharp breath.

Diorite stretched, dropping one hind leg a little farther back. Gwareth looked up to find him watching with narrowed eyes.

It clenched shut its eyes, its jaw, momentarily struggling. Then it shuffled even closer and leaned down.

That single fingertip stroked delicately along his slit. It was nothing so much as _strange:_ a soft touch that wasn’t his own tongue. From end to end his cloaca was about the length of Gwareth’s finger, though of course it could stretch. Gwareth stroked it up and down a few times, throwing Diorite nervous glances, before pressing deeper.

The squire _knew_ Diorite’s erect cock fit through there— with eggs bulging his shaft, even. It oughtn’t worry a little finger would hurt.

Its finger slipped easily into him down to the knuckle. Back and forth, so gentle… was this how humans fucked each other? Diorite hummed and flexed his muscular tract. Gwareth pushed in a second finger and moved them about, pressing and searching.

Then it found a tender place that sent a shivery shock through Diorite. He twitched with surprise. His egg sac? He’d never touched it like _that_. Ordinarily he didn’t even feel his sac until it was so swollen with fluid that it screamed for release.

“Do that,” he demanded, at Gwareth’s nervous look.

Breathing more noisily, Gwareth continued to stroke into him with hooked fingers. It was like his fingers had found a direct nerve to Diorite’s sac and said _come here, come here_ , firm and repeating, sending waves of warmth through his core. Diorite lay slack and drooled a bit, blissed.

“Oh!”

Diorite felt the head of his cock pressing into those fingers. “Go on,” he rumbled before Gwareth could yank away. “That’s a good chalice.”

Gwareth gave a whimper. The poor thing looked so _unhappy_ compared to how wonderful it was making Diorite feel, and at such little cost too. He’d have thought this preferable to a messy, laborious reaming of its arse.

As Gwareth continued fingering his cloaca, Diorite’s cock ever so slowly pressed out. The pressure grew more delicious by the moment. His cock had to emerge but Gwareth’s fingers made his passage _tight_. Gwareth even tried to push its fingers in deeper, as if it could stuff his cock back. Diorite groaned in pleasurable pain.

Eventually Diorite’s cock forced the fingers out, emerging in a sudden rush of relief long delayed. He was already leaking copiously from how Gwareth had stimulated his sac. It was full and tight and tingling for release.

Gwareth stared with apprehension. Realizing that the squire had never really _looked_ at his cock before, Diorite proudly rolled farther onto his back to display.

His cock bobbed tautly just over his belly. It was flushed magenta and dripped pearly slick from the tip. With comparison to Gwareth, Diorite could now see that it was about the length of the squire’s forearm, elbow to fingertip. From the wide base it narrowed gently to about wrist-thick, then flared again at the tip. His knot was soft, with only slight ridging around the base to suggest its presence.

Gwareth wrapped trembling fingers around the bulging cockhead that gave its quim such pleasure. Its hand couldn’t quite grasp the whole thing. The head of his cock was elongated like a spade, a fat bulge tapering to a flattened, scooping point made to slot eggs gently into the depths of his chosen hole. The wide slit dribbled slick onto his belly, filling the air with inviting salt.

“Can I have the candle,” the squire asked shakily. “Please?”

“No,” Diorite said, because he could. “Impress me.”

Gwareth let out a trembling breath. Slowly it squeezed and pumped the head of Diorite’s cock, milking out a wet splatter. Diorite groaned at the silky pressure. His rugged pawpads could do no such thing, nor the craggy confines of his mouth.

Gwareth’s thumb rubbed the wide slit. Electricity shot up Diorite’s spine, making him yowl with abrupt fervour. Here too Gwareth’s fingers were small— not a stretch for a passage that regularly pumped out eggs the size of a plum. But the tissue was _marvellously_ sensitive. It felt like the squire had lightning magic of its own, its touch sparking tiny relentless crackles of blinding-sharp pleasure that made Diorite writhe, his eyes rolling back with pleasure.

“Please. Please can I—”

“No,” he rasped, struggling not to squirm so hard that he dislodged Gwareth’s touch. A hand gripped tighter around his cock to hold it steady. Diorite moaned deliriously. “Oh, pretty thing… don’t even think of stopping.”

“ _God_ ,” Gwareth sobbed, distant to Diorite’s ears, and then the thumb rubbing his slit was replaced by hot, hot lips around the tip of his cock.

Gwareth immediately gagged. It wrapped both hands around his shaft, which only made Diorite harder. Breathing hard through its nose, Gwareth slid farther down the tapered head, those reluctant lips stretching wide. Diorite had only half a thought of _where are its teeth_ and then its _tongue_ thrust into his slit.

Diorite screamed in delight, rendered utterly incoherent. He was wrecked, he was melting; he couldn’t stop his hips from jerking blindly back and forth— to escape from the overwhelming sensation or to drive in deep, he couldn’t choose. His body only writhed.

Gwareth was still gagging, eyes screwed shut, evidently unable to handle the sensation of Diorite’s cock in its mouth. It coughed out a spatter of pearly fluid but kept its mouth in place. Gwareth’s hands squeezed, stroked, spread slick up and down his shaft in jerky pulls. Then it forced its mouth wide enough to take in the whole bulging head of his cock and stuck there, mouth stuffed, lips stretched wide around the shaft, only able to gag and tonguefuck his sensitive slit.

“Yesss,” Diorite was gasping, uncontrollably, “yesss, oh, ye-esssss, hhn, _uh_ , uh, _uhhhn_ , uh…”

Everything was messy, noisy, Gwareth most of all. Distantly Diorite noticed it crying, half-retching around his cock, tears trickling down scarlet cheeks. He didn’t care as long as it kept licking, kept _sucking_ , marvellous creature. And it did.

“Squeeeeeze,” he hissed. His breath was growing short with oncoming orgasm, the tension in his groin becoming unbearable. “Tighter!”

Gwareth stroked harder with both hands. Diorite ripped at the dirt to restrain the urge to shove its head down his cock, _down_ where he needed it— throat convulsing around the shaft, lips to the base, tongue forced all the way into his cloaca, its mouth a hot cavern for his knot to swell and lock, _oh_. He could barely make himself remember why he shouldn’t break Gwareth so.

His tail slashed a pile of armour, sent it clattering across the floor. “ _Squeeze_!”

“Mmf— kkkghh— _glck_ —”

Gwareth’s hands finally found the knot trying desperately to stir at the base of his cock. Gwareth made a strangled noise and gripped _hard_ , sending a shattering pulse of pleasure through his body, and Diorite broke.

Like a flood of magma bursting from the first and final crack in the vault, orgasm erupted through Diorite. His knot swelled painfully fast, straining the tight grip of Gwareth’s hands, and his egg sac released its stretching, throbbing flood. The first gush of slick overflowed Gwareth’s mouth and it instantly recoiled, retching out several rubbery eggs. The rest smacked wetly to the floor.

Diorite moaned in heartfelt ecstasy. It didn’t matter that he was ejaculating all over himself, his cock jerking in midair; didn’t matter that Gwareth was distantly gagging and spitting with disgust. The squire’s hands remained locked around his knot, squeezing as if it wished it were strangling Diorite instead, which was just the sweet clutch Diorite needed to come. And come. And come.

Near the end of his release, when his cock had softened and his orgasm abated to a trickle of slick and the last few, shivering eggs, Diorite slitted open one sleepy eye. Gwareth knelt by his side in the sticky mess, head down, shoulders heaving with breath. Enduring Diorite’s pleasure, as ever. Such a good chalice who hated him so terribly yet _still_ behaved. The constant, living demonstration of Diorite’s power: _that_ was what he loved most about having a chalice.

“Sweet thing,” Diorite murmured. “How talented you are.”

Gwareth turned its face away and spat. The gesture accomplished little, soaked as it was with Diorite’s spend down its chin, its neck, its hands and wrists, in a filthy puddle around its knees. There was even a trickle of opalescent slick that had come out through its nostrils.

“Need a lick?” Diorite asked slyly, tongue flicking its knee.

Gwareth jerked away, chain rattling. “No.”

Diorite tilted his head. “No?”

But he let the squire crawl back to its little huddle by the fire. It wiped its face clean with a scrap of its torn shirt that was now essentially nothing but rag.

He looked at it consideringly for a little longer before hauling to his feet. A quick blast of fire scorched the floor clean. Then he slunk out to the lake for a roll in the water, still thinking.

The hot afternoon sun dried his scales quickly as he winged his way across the Battle River again. This time Diorite had no compunctions about announcing his presence with a shrieking roar as he dove toward the forest clearing. He raked shingles from the roof until the human occupants had fled into the forest again. Chuckling, smoke streaming from his nostrils, Diorite snaked down the belfry and into his favourite new trove.

Rather than heading directly back home once he had swallowed a few mouthfuls of gold baubles and plucked a chandelier from the ceiling, Diorite took a curious circle over the forest. He spotted white smoke curling through the treetops nearby and glided silently in to investigate.

Another wooden building, this one smaller. A house, he thought. It wasn’t a castle or a barn; the rest he was fuzzy on. The house had been built of whole logs and the clearing was littered with woodchips; the smell of smoked meat and old blood filled the air.

Diorite tore the house door off its hinges and thrust his snout in. Not a lot there… not much he could reach without eeling his bulk through the narrow doorway, either. Iron pots, trivets, nails in the walls… Dismissive, Diorite began chewing the hinges off the broken door.

“Wh… HEY!”

Diorite’s head snapped up. A human in rough leather stood between trees, gaping. It had a bow in hand, arrow nocked, ready to shoot… anything but what it actually saw. He saw the moment it realized its little arrow would do nothing against a dragon.

Grinning, Diorite lunged across the clearing.

A short while later, full and licking blood from his snout, Diorite returned to the cabin. Animal skins everywhere. Nothing he cared about. He couldn’t even smell any gold hidden in some tricky little box or bag.

But… another smell. One he hadn’t especially cared about in the past.

After a moment of consideration, Diorite shouldered awkwardly through the narrow doorway, reassured at least that he’d eaten the only witness.

Back home, he opened his jaws and dropped the mouthful he had carried with exquisite care. A bundle of beeswax candles dripping with drool clattered at Gwareth’s feet.

“You have a sweet little mouth,” Diorite rumbled, nuzzling its throat. He felt Gwareth shudder hard. “And beautiful hands. I shall look forward to using them again.”

He withdrew to inspect his new chandelier, then paused to give Gwareth a last sly glance. “No lick?” He could smell the squire’s quim all freshly hot and wet.

“ _No_.”

With a shrug, Diorite slunk off to fuss over his new treasure.

He asked again the next morning, after fucking its arse on the beach. And again later that evening, after bullying it into suckling his cock again.

On the third day he warmed his cock in its quim for a bit, teasing the muscular channel with little thrusts but withdrawing before Gwareth orgasmed.

“No,” Gwareth said every time, eyes clenched and teeth grinding. “No, no, _no, stop_ …”

But on the third night Diorite finally heard what he had been waiting for: muffled grunting and slick little noises in the dark. Delighted, he launched himself off his pile and on top of Gwareth, who gave a terrified scream.

“No no no,” Diorite said gleefully, and wrestled the struggling, swearing squire into a spread-eagle. He pinned its limbs with all four paws. His tail trailed wickedly up its inner thigh. “No, you don’t touch yourself, chalice. You come for me or not at all.”

“Fuck you!” Gwareth shouted, then screamed as Diorite’s tail whipped across its quim. “ _Ngh_ — stop it, st— _AGH!_ ”

Gleeful, merciless, Diorite beat its quim until the squire was sobbing too hard to beg properly. By then its quim was red and brutally swollen. His claws had nicked its limbs in the struggle but he figured it would survive.

“No,” Diorite told it, with a smug lick of its tearful cheek. “No. Until you say yes. As obedient as you are, it’s time you learn to be grateful.”


	3. The Princess

In the morning Gwareth’s quim was red, still welted, and it gave Diorite a look of mingled fear and loathing. He only licked it a few times, just to make it whimper with anticipatory pain and to feel its blood-hot folds around his tongue. Properly warned, Gwareth huddled up in place as Diorite left and was in more or less the same position when he returned that evening.

“Say yes,” Diorite murmured, pumping slow and easy deep into its arse. Firelight flickered over Gwareth’s form: the grim twist of its hands around the chain, the spread knees and lifted arse, the pained bow of its spine up to where his cock impaled that straining hole. Diorite had sat back on his haunches just to look at the pretty picture his chalice made. “Say yes, lovely, and let me make you scream.”

“I hate you,” it whispered, shuddering with strain. Pushing his cock past the bend of its guts still made the squire whimper, and Diorite had been fucking it slowly for a long time, never quite sinking deep enough to squeeze his knot and end the torment.

“But I make you feel so good.”

“No… _ngh_. That _hurts_.”

“Say yes and you’ll squirt for me. I’ll give you what you like.”

“ _Stop!_ ”

Diorite sighed and put his front paws back on the ground. The shift forced the last span of his cock into its guts. Gwareth cried out loudly. It tried to clutch its belly but was yanked short by the chain, so it hunched there quiveringly taut, teeth clenched, gasping for control. An escaped tear trickled down its cheek.

“Eventually,” Diorite growled, perfunctorily shoving his hips a few more times before his knot locked and his orgasm shivered through. He hoped it hurt when his eggs and fluid swelled its belly. “You will.”

On the fifth day the whole cave smelled like _need_. Gwareth slept uneasily— Diorite watched it in the early morning— and woke slick and flushed. It moved awkwardly as it broke sticks and fed the fire: hands twitching for its groin too often, shuddering every now and again when its thighs brushed. A restless energy filled its bones. But it saw Diorite watching and forbore.

“Hungry, chalice?”

It breathed too deep and avoided his gaze. “Yes,” it muttered.

“Later. I’ll bring something. I have a long way to go today.”

“Are you not going to feed me now?” Gwareth demanded.

“I feed you.” Diorite bared his teeth and advanced on it, not entirely satisfied with how little Gwareth cringed back. “I treat you _very_ well. I spoil you, little squire. You should be honoured.”

He waited, his teeth an inch from Gwareth’s turned cheek, until Gwareth said quietly, lips barely moving, “I’m honoured.”

Diorite stalked out and launched into the air, wings beating hard and fast until he tore through the clouds.

Then he arched backwards into a perfect loop and returned the direction he’d come. He broke the cloud layer some distance away and glided silently down to the caldera’s rim. Very carefully, mindful that the rising sun wouldn’t cast his shadow on the beach from this angle, he landed silently on a rock ledge just above the mouth of his cave.

He waited.

The squire had more patience that he’d given it credit for. It took until the sun had fully risen over the Caldera before Diorite heard a groan and the noise of hard frustrated rubbing.

With an ear-splitting roar, he dropped like the wrath of heaven into the mouth of the cave. Rocks and dust streamed around him. Gwareth scrambled back to the limit of its chain as Diorite stalked in, hissing smoke through a lip-curling snarl. The squire’s face was white and bloodless. Pure terror that Diorite hadn’t seen in a long time.

Frozen in terror, its lips worked soundlessly for a moment. Then, unable to make itself beg in the face of imminent death, Gwareth shut its eyes and clenched its jaw and waited for the end.

“ _No_ ,” Diorite breathed, low and savage. “ _No_ , chalice. No. You will listen when I speak.”

He curled his claws around its ankle, ignoring the fact that he was gripping too tight, and dragged it across the packed earthen floor. The squire gave a strangled cry when it was stretched to its limit. Its fingers scrabbled at the manacles cutting into its wrists.

On the other side of the cave Diorite unearthed a sword. He rammed it against a crack in the stone— snapped the rusty blade— and stabbed again. This time it sank deep. Growling smoke with every breath, he tangled a chain around the crossbar and yanked it tight.

Gwareth was whimpering even before Diorite began knotting the chain around one ankle. “No,” it begged, frightened worse of every terrible thing Diorite could do to it than of gory death. “No, please, I won’t, no, no please—”

“Too late,” Diorite hissed. “Too late. Now you suffer.”

“No,” Gwareth moaned miserably. “No… no please…”

Diorite jerked its other leg wide apart and staked it down too, leaving scrapes wherever he touched. Muscles strained in the squire’s thighs as it tried uselessly, uncontrollably, to close them. “What do you think I’ll do?”

“Hurt me,” Gwareth managed, a sob of a phrase. Defeat in every bone of its body. “Fuck me.”

Diorite trailed a single iron claw down the line of its stomach, wire-haired and vulnerable. Its belly concaved helplessly. “No,” he said. “Nothing. Until you say yes.”

And he left, this time for real.

In the evening he dropped a shoulder of fire-scorched deer beside the squire’s head. To Diorite’s annoyance, he had to pick bits of charred meat from the bone and hold them to Gwareth’s mouth; otherwise the squire couldn’t get enough reach with its flat face and short neck to bite from the haunch. Gwareth tried its best to convince him to undo the chains for that reason, making all sorts of submissive promises but not, crucially, the relevant one.

“And shall I lick you until you spend?” Diorite asked. “Say please to that.”

Gwareth was silent.

Diorite dropped a last hunk of meat on its face and went to polish his silver.

The next morning Gwareth was dry-mouthed and panting, almost delirious for the cauldron of boiled lake water it kept near its fire. “Please,” it gasped, shivering at his feet. “Please let me go. I need water, I need to drink, please— I need…” It squirmed against the chains, evidently in all sorts of distress.

Familiar with the sort of needs a human had every morning, Diorite gloweringly released its ankles. It gasped thanks and crawled over to its little nook for water, fire, relief. On hands and knees it tore chunks from the cold leg of charred venison.

“Well, chalice,” Diorite said softly. “Are you ready yet? Do you need it now?”

Gwareth froze with greasy fingers at its mouth. Its body suddenly trembled with tension.

“No,” it said, not a denial but a plea. “No, please… no more… please just fuck me, just—”

“ _Stubborn_ ,” Diorite growled, reaching for its leg and the chains.

“I _can’t!_ ”

“You will.”

Despite the squire’s miserable protests, its need was more than apparent. When Diorite had chained its legs apart once more, its cock stood rampantly erect, hard and aching from days of denial. Moan as Gwareth might over being mounted, it had always been satisfied by the time Diorite was finished, often more thoroughly than Diorite himself. The witch’s potion still raged in its blood. Potent. Hot. _Demanding_.

That evening was much the same. Diorite fed it and let it drink, healed the chafing from the manacles, even loosened the chains so it could flex its aching limbs— though not far enough that its hands could reach its cock or its thighs could rub together.

Though his cloaca was vaguely tense and Diorite had become accustomed to using his chalice the moment he felt the slightest urge, this time he forbore. He wasn’t sure Gwareth wouldn’t immediately come all over his cock, the way it had in the very beginning when its heat was fresh and intense. Instead he lay his head between Gwareth’s thighs and teased its quim, his tongue flickering over lips and hole and the swollen pearl of its cockhead until Gwareth was soaked and begging him to stop.

But again Gwareth refused to beg for _release_. Diorite left it erect and shaking and went to sleep. The sounds of its frustrated little noises in the dark made his cloaca ache, but that was its own kind of pleasure.

On the seventh morning Diorite licked his squire all over, relishing the salt of its frustrated sweat. Gwareth chewed its lip to stay silent but couldn’t keep from quaking when Diorite’s tongue traced its neck, its nipples, the line of its belly. He pinched its puffy little nipples and it writhed.

It took barely a flicker of his tongue over its swollen quim to make Gwareth buck and finally cry out. Diorite jerked back, letting Gwareth thrust its hips uselessly where his tongue had just been before it sagged back to the ground and broke into tears.

“Yes?”

“ _Please_ …”

“Wrong, chalice.” Diorite turned to leave.

“ _Wait_!” Gwareth cried, as Diorite spread his wings.

Diorite paused. Behind him Gwareth lay sobbing so hard it choked.

“What?”

“Please,” Gwareth wept, wretched with misery and humiliation. “Please… make me… m-make me come. With your tongue. I w-want…”

Diorite spread his wings and took off. The howl that echoed from his cave was _delicious_.

He found the princess at noon in a meadow. It had wandered far from habitation in order to graze its sheep.

The flock panicked and fled, bleating, as Diorite’s shadow crossed the meadow. The princess stood abruptly from a boulder, staff in hand, only to freeze when Diorite swooped down and settled before it.

“Don’t flee,” he purred, spreading his wings out huge and black. “Unless you intend not to hear my words.”

“...All right,” it whispered, clutching its staff tight. Little brown flecks stood out like sand on its bone-white face.

“You are mine,” he said gently, so it could understand. “And you will come with me.”

“No…”

“Yes,” he snapped, annoyed at the word, then gentled again. He could do without the fighting for once. “Yes. You can be mine, or you can be bones.”

Its face crumpled. He could see a desperation kindling, the frantic fatalism that made Gwareth willing to kick at him and scream.

“You won’t be harmed,” he promised. He stretched his wings wider to block the way its eyes darted, calculating any desperate escape. “You’ll be treated so well. You are a treasure to me.”

It gripped its staff tightly, wringing the wood. Calculating escape. Calculating survival.

“What do you want me for?” it whispered.

“A treasure. A lovely thing. I have a knight who has earned a reward. You are to show it how gentle and good I can be. Yes, princess? ”

“A knight,” it breathed. It seemed no less confused, but a little of the terror left its body. Diorite was surprised how well he could read human emotions now. “I… I’m not a princess, though.”

Diorite dared to slink in closer, close enough that his snout could bump its belly. It squeaked, but when he did nothing more than nose up its sternum, inhaling its sweet salt, the princess very carefully— faltering, fearful, but by choice— laid its palm on his nose. Pleased, Diorite sighed and looked up at it with hooded eyes. His cloaca ached.

“I’m just a sheep herder, I’m— nothing. Please… marvellous creature… my flock. I can give you one if you want, if— two, even, if you need—”

“I need you,” Diorite said. “A maiden, then. A maiden will do.”

Its mouth trembled. Then clenched. Fragile little body, but with iron in the bones— just like his squire. That was what a good chalice needed, Diorite thought.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No. Never,” he assured. The idea really didn’t appeal as much now that he knew what else he could get out of a human, especially a cooperative one.

He nuzzled its belly again. Its apron snagged on his rough scales and tore, but the maiden only pressed its palm harder against his head. Its fingers carefully stroked the ridge of spikes over his eye.

“Good dragon, please, I must bid my family goodbye. My home is just over that—”

“No.” Though he didn’t fault it for a last attempt at escape, he was simply too clever to allow it. “We go now. Come, maiden. Come with me.”

It shrieked a little as he snatched it up— whether despair, pain, or the fright of hurtling airborne he didn’t know. But he had it securely in his claws and it had dropped its staff, and there was nothing it could do any more. He could feel it gripping his ankle for dear life, which was rather endearing.

Diorite felt a little bad when he had to drop the maiden into the caldera’s lake. It came up thrashing and yelling between breaths. He rather thought it would have screamed more about being dropped onto the rocky shore, though.

Diorite alighted by the cave entrance and waited, doing his best not to fidget or smoke with anticipation. From within he heard Gwareth faintly moan.

Gasping, the maiden waded ashore. Its waterlogged skirts dragged over the rocks.

“Come,” Diorite rumbled. “Come see my knight.”

It stepped tentatively into the cave, squinting against the transition from dazzling sunlight to dark. Bare feet— both shoes lost in the lake— felt their way over scorched stone and dirt.

“What the fuck,” Gwareth choked. “What have you _done_?”

“Here,” Diorite purred. He snaked up behind the maiden and laid his head on its shoulder. It jerked with fright but stood frozen, clutching its dripping skirts and staring down at Gwareth. With fresh eyes Diorite devoured the picture his chalice made: spread-eagled naked in the dirt, sweaty and grimy save where its tears had left clean tracks, utterly exposed, its need agonizingly obvious in the rampant thrust of its exposed cock.

“Oh,” the maiden whimpered, “oh, no, no, no…”

Diorite shouldered it forward. “Don’t start that now. See how it needs you? My poor knight. I gave it a lovely new cock and it’s never been sucked.”

“No, no please…”

“You showed me just how marvellous a sucking is,” Diorite purred to Gwareth. “You should get to feel it too. As a reward.”

“ _No!_ ”

He shoved the maiden hard. It fell to all fours with a startled scream and huddled there shaking, starting to cry.

“Stop that.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, you _said_ —”

“Not unless you give me reason to think you’ll be more use as dinner than a chalice.” Frustratingly, this only made it curl up into a little ball and cry louder. “Stop that! Enough!”

“Stop it!” Gwareth shouted, jerking against its chains. It had only enough slack to sit up partially but did the best it could, struggling to reach out toward the maiden. “Look at me, look at me, milady— milady, please look at me, stop crying, please.”

“What does the beast want,” it whispered. “What’s it going to do?”

“It’ll be all right,” Gwareth said, white-faced. It twitched the fingers it was trying to extend. “Come here. Come over here. Don’t hurt her, please.”

“I said I would not,” Diorite huffed. “Go on. Go to my knight.”

Sniffing, it crawled hesitantly forward. It seemed to want to get farther from Diorite rather than closer to Gwareth.

“Are you really a knight?” it whispered.

Gwareth stroked the back of its hand with shaking fingers. “Of a sort,” it croaked. “It’ll be all right. _No_ , no no no, don’t try that, please, he’ll kill you.”

Diorite slunk in front of the nearest mound of treasure, just in case the maiden continued having thoughts about his axes and swords.

“I’m so sorry. I’m Gwareth. What’s your name?”

“Alis.”

“Alis. I’ll protect you with my life, I swear I will.”

Diorite nudged his snout against the maiden’s back. It gave a startled scream that threatened to become tears again.

“Take these off.”

“No. God, no. I can’t. I—”

“Oh god,” Gwareth groaned. “Do it.”

“You—”

“Do it. He’ll rip them off if you don’t.”

The maiden made a wretched noise. But after a moment it took a deep breath, wiped the back of its arm across its face, and stood. Head held precariously high, eyes still shining, it glared at Diorite. Amused, he noted that its eyes were green rather than Gwareth’s brown. He liked the contrast.

The maiden contrasted his squire in many pleasant ways. It loosened laces and opened buttons until its dress fell, and stepped out to reveal milk-pale skin toasted brown at the hands and shoulders and breasts. Soft breasts, round arse, where his squire had become hard and flat. And its flesh was so, so smooth. Until then Diorite hadn’t realized how battered Gwareth had become, how roughened by scabs and bruises and a fine pink tracery of scars healed away day by day.

Breathing hard, the maiden stood staring at the far wall of the cave. One hand twitched as if to cover the reddish curls of its quim, then clenched into a fist and held still.

“Down,” Diorite ordered silkily.

Down it went to its knees. Still staring at the wall.

“This knight is my chalice,” Diorite purred. “My favourite thing. It pleases me very, very much. And it finally asked me to please it, too. With such pretty begging… how can I say no?”

He slunk in close and rested his chin on the maiden’s shoulder again. The weight of his jaw forced its shoulders down, closer to Gwareth. Its harsh breath stirred the curls framing Gwareth’s cock.

“This is what you get for being good,” Diorite said to Gwareth. “And what I get, of course.”

Gwareth’s expression was absolutely wretched. “Please don’t,” it whispered. “Not this.”

“Always this. When you’re good, I make you scream. You just need to stop making such a fuss about it.”

Diorite nudged the maiden’s shoulder, this time harder. “Suck. Make it scream for me.”

Only barely able to reach, Gwareth touched the back of the maiden’s hand again. It jerked away. “Do you— do you know what he means?” Gwareth whispered. “Alis, I’m so sorry— a maiden like yourself—”

“I know what sex is, I live on a farm,” it said harshly, still resisting the push of Diorite’s chin. Amused, he wondered how long it would try to struggle against him. “I can’t— beast, this is a _woman_.”

Gwareth flinched.

“No,” Diorite corrected. “This is my knight. See how he aches for you… almost how I ache.” The maiden shuddered. “Suck his cock.”

Leaning hard on the maiden’s shoulder, Diorite was in no position to see its face. But he could see Gwareth— and more importantly Gwareth’s quim, and how its cock jumped hard at Diorite’s words. Gwareth shut its eyes tightly and collapsed back on the ground, its nails digging into the dirt.

The maiden gave a soft sob. Its hand touched Gwareth’s inner thigh, roughened with a thousand hair-fine scars from Diorite’s scales. Gwareth jerked as if burned.

“Sir Gwareth…”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this. I’m so— _ohhhhh_!”

The maiden’s lips wrapped around the tip of Gwareth’s cock, which twitched hard against them. Gwareth squirmed, visibly struggling not to thrust. It gave a groan that sounded like pain, could only be aching desperation. The maiden made a stifled noise and moved its head a little. A tentative suck. Another.

Gwareth began to sob in pleasure, its thighs shaking violently beneath the maiden’s hands. Diorite thought that if he had been so frantic for release, he would never have such control.

No reason he _should_ control himself, either. Diorite let his cloaca relax and his cock began to emerge.

The maiden gasped for breath. A string of saliva clung between its lips and Gwareth’s cock, which was even redder now, agonizingly engorged. It throbbed in time with the clench of Gwareth’s quim.

“Please,” Gwareth croaked, sounding on the edge of tears. “Please, oh please… god, please, no more.”

“Sir…”

“I can’t,” Gwareth moaned, “I can’t, I can’t… _please_ …”

Diorite slipped his claws around the maiden and pinched one nipple sharply. It screamed and tried to jerk away, only to be caged by his other foreleg. “Don’t torment my poor knight,” he rumbled, and squeezed its breast knowing that his very touch hurt. “You are my reward.”

“No, ow, please stop, _ow_ —”

“ _Suck_.”

Whimpering, the maiden shoved its mouth to Gwareth’s cock again. This time it went all the way down, swallowing the thick curved shaft to the base, too frantic to be shy. Its pink cheeks hollowed, sucking hard. Gwareth howled.

At long last Gwareth came undone, wrecked by days of denial and a hot sucking mouth. It thrust up furiously against the maiden’s face, grinding for pleasure even as it sobbed and babbled apologies.

“I’m sorry, oh, I’m so, _hhh_ , oh _fuck_ , please, yes, I— _sorry_ — I need, please, need more—”

“Yes,” Diorite hissed.

“ _Please_ ,” Gwareth begged, “please that, please do that, keep— _oh_ — oh god I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, _fuck_ , please, I need—”

Its thighs clenched around the maiden’s head, straining for purchase on release too long denied. With a violent, bestial shove, Gwareth thrust up against its mouth and came apart, screaming, red-faced and wrecked. In another moment its thighs fell open again, but Diorite held the maiden’s head down with his claw and Gwareth continued to grind uncontrollably into its mouth, hips stuttering, not so much thrusting as spasming through waves of release and overstimulation.

“Yesss,” Diorite sighed, even as Gwareth sobbed, “ _God_ , oh god, I’m sorry, please, _oh_ …”

He finally eased the pressure on the maiden’s shoulder. It yanked back gasping for breath, its face red and _wet_.

“Sir Knight,” it choked.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so… so sorry…”

Diorite nuzzled its shoulder. “Again,” he whispered in its ear.

Gwareth’s head jerked up. Its expression was a beautiful, broken kind of despair.

The maiden’s hand squeezed tight on Gwareth’s thigh. Diorite didn’t know what to make of the look that passed between them, only that Gwareth lay back again with a defeated sob. The maiden lowered its head again and slowly, deliberately, began to lick.

Even though his cock was hard and ready, Diorite edged to the side so he would watch a little longer. The humans were so _soft_ together. The maiden’s mouth was careful, lips plush, tongue so so smooth. It licked Gwareth’s quim clean— eyes open, eyebrows furrowed— and then carried on uncertainly. When Gwareth trembled and moaned, it heeded as if guided by an invisible hand: to tentatively suck the swollen folds of Gwareth’s quim, to dip its tongue into the hole, to trace an exploratory path around its hard shaft. It tried to suck on Gwareth’s cock again only for Gwareth to arch away crying, “Too much, too much, _stop!_ ” The maiden took pity— soft even there— and went back to merciful little kitten licks of its hole. Even the incidental rub of its nose against Gwareth’s cock made the squire moan. The maiden dragged in wet, stifled breaths and kept its mouth busy, jaw working hard. Its face was flushed such a pretty red.

Dragons were never so soft. Diorite _ached_ at the inviting lushness of his two lovely chalices.

Unable to wait any longer, he slipped behind the maiden again. On its hands and knees, buttocks plump and raised, it presented an alluring picture. Purring, he snaked his tongue between its legs.

“OH! _No_ —”

“Shhh.” Diorite pushed its shoulders down again. “Lick, lick, lick.”

Even though it had pressed its knees together, Diorite’s snout was more than insistent enough to get between. He wormed his tongue in, sinking into the hot salt of the maiden’s quim. _Tight_ , this one. Like Gwareth had been.

The maiden panicked and squirmed a bit, but between Diorite’s stifling paw and whatever Gwareth was hurriedly whispering, it held still. He worked his tongue deep and demanding until its delicious salt grew stronger, wetter. Both chalices made the most delightful whimpering noise.

At last he withdrew, intoxicated on its salty musk. The maiden’s thighs had come apart and its quim was pink, dripping with his saliva. He couldn’t see a cock but its arousal was unmistakable.

Panting, Diorite stepped over top the maiden. He was large enough that it brought his head on level with Gwareth. The squire’s eyes fluttered open. So wrecked and confused.

“What…”

Diorite’s cock jabbed wetly against the maiden’s thigh— its buttocks—

Its scream was piercing. As if this was the final straw, it was suddenly sobbing and scrambling for escape from beneath him. Startled, Diorite managed to pin the maiden beneath him and Gwareth, but it didn’t calm any.

“No, no please, not that, don’t— you can’t, I can’t, please—”

“Wait, stop—”

“Sir Gwareth, _make it stop_!” The maiden clutched at its shoulders, still trying to squirm out from beneath Diorite’s weight. “Make it stop, make it leave me alone!”

Gwareth’s expression was agony. “ _Please_.”

Diorite glared. “Make it _behave_.”

“Please don’t. You can fuck me instead— I want you to, please! I know how to take it, I can make it so good— I can suck you off again, please, I’ll do it, let me…”

“I want this one,” he interrupted. “Make it behave. You know there’s no use making a fuss, chalice. It never works. Now tell it to behave or I’ll _make_ it.”

Gwareth glared poison through a shimmer of hot tears. It wrapped its arms around the maiden and held it close, as if this was some kind of protection.

Diorite huffed and retreated a step, watching the two warily. For a while Gwareth held the maiden tightly— first restraining when it tried to scramble away, then embracing when it suddenly collapsed and lay weeping on top. The maiden’s face was pressed to its chest, hidden by long tangled auburn hair. Diorite couldn’t hear and hardly cared what Gwareth was whispering in its ear. Hot slow tears streaked down the squire’s face.

At length the sobbing became quiet. The maiden pressed a hand to Gwareth’s face and murmured something almost against its lips.

Even through his annoyance, Diorite thought they made a pretty picture. He liked them tangled all together, a press of soft skin and trembling needy limbs. He imagined, briefly, the extravagant indulgence of fucking them like that, stacked together, dipping his cock from one hole to another.

The maiden slowly sat back on its haunches, kneeling above Gwareth. Their hands squeezed together. Both of them looked at Diorite with mingled fear and pleading.

“Please,” the maiden said, clear but trembling. “Please, magnificent dragon. Please don’t use me so cruelly.”

“No,” Diorite said. “I think I will.”

Raw resignation swept Gwareth’s face. Despair blanched the maiden.

“Up,” he said— gently, since they seemed to be defeated. He had to lift the maiden into position but was pleased when it held the pose, frozen and weeping on hands and knees.

His tongue slicked its quim. The maiden jerked but held still. It was clenching Gwareth’s hands.

“Please. Please,” it whispered over and over, thighs shaking around his snout. “Please. I’m a virgin.”

Intrigued, he paused. “What’s that?”

“It’s— _please_ , you can’t do this, you’ll ruin me, please…”

“What’s a virgin? Is that like a squire, like… nearly a princess?”

“She’s never been had,” Gwareth said. “If you— take her— you’ll take her virginity away. God…”

“What, here?” Diorite’s tongue probed its quim again as if he’d find something new within. “This is virgin?”

“Yes…”

“What about this?” He licked her clenching arsehole.

“God! Yes!”

He snaked his head over to look at Gwareth. “Were you a virgin?”

The squire looked distraught. “I… of a sort. In… some ways, I… yes.”

Diorite chuckled, delighted to discover that he’d taken a virginity, whatever that was. It was valuable to humans. Even intangible treasure could count.

“I’ll only take one,” he said generously. “This... or this. Which are you willing to give me, chalice?”

It buried its face against Gwareth’s neck, sobbing noisily.

“Which?” Greedily, he lapped at its arsehole, hoping that it would choose the hole he could fit his cock all the way into. He would finish with Gwareth’s arse if he had to— or maybe the mouth it had offered— but his groin ached with desire to drop his eggs _soon_. “Here?”

“Say yes. Just say—”

“ _Yes_.”

With an excited huff of smoke, Diorite lunged on top. His scales scraped the maiden’s back; he scarcely missed stepping on Gwareth’s shoulder. More concerned with the placement of his cock, he shifted around, ignoring the sobbing and whispering except as background noise.

“It’ll be all right,” Gwareth whispered frantically. “You’ll be all right— it doesn’t— it doesn’t hurt much… He’ll heal you, you’ll be… it’s okay, it’s okay…”

He had gotten much better at mounting a chalice since his first awkward days. Eyes slitted with pleasure, Diorite angled his hips until he found the right spot. The maiden’s arsehole was clenched but he got the tapered tip of his cock in place and slowly, surely forced it open.

“Oh— _oh_ — no no no _no no_ —”

The bulge of his cockhead popped in and it was _tight_. The maiden screamed. Diorite relished the noise almost as much as the hot grip spasming in distress around his cock. It had been a while since Gwareth had been so tight. Only its mouth came close. But a chalice’s arse was truly superior: hot, slick, tight. And _deep_.

Another one he got to break for the first time. There _was_ something special about virginity.

“Yessss,” he groaned, slowly thrusting his hips. He could feel the slow steady leak of his fluid easing the way, letting his cock sink in by tiny fractions.

“ _Stop_! It hurts! Stop, please, stop, please don’t— _ow_! God! _Stop it! Stop!_ ”

“There it is,” Diorite murmured. He thrust experimentally to probe the pressure blocking his way. The maiden jerked. He put a forestalling paw on its shoulder. “Now, chalice, no need to fuss. Just open. All of this is going in. Let me have what I want.”

And with steady shallow thrusts, he teased the bend of its guts. Gentle, ruthless… nudging it open. Probing the place that hurt. Rocking, pressing— relishing its cries— deeper, deeper, slowly, hard— and then some inner ring squelched open and his cock thrust through, into the maiden’s deepest parts.

It screamed like a banshee. Well aware of how distressed humans got when a dragon plundered their most secret depths, Diorite carried on in groaning pleasure. The maiden was even pushing back against him, straining to eject his cock, which only opened it hole for the ever-widening stretch of his shaft. He sank a good half of his length into it before pausing for breath when the maiden’s shriek reached a fever pitch and its hole strained so tight it nearly hurt.

_Slowly, **slowly**_ , he counselled. _Work it open. Make it last_.

He withdrew enough that his cock squelched back through the bend of its guts. That only redoubled the pleasure of thrusting back in.

In. Out.

Diorite fucked the maiden deep and thorough until it was shaking so violently that he had to hold its hips up. He was struggling himself, trembling with pleasure and the near-unbearable pain of his egg sac swollen so tight and full that it was ready to burst. He hadn’t used Gwareth in days, after all; he had been denied just as long. And his body had become _very_ accustomed to dropping eggs every day.

“Just like that,” he was groaning, working his cock in short little thrusts. Its arsehole was a sliding squeeze just _barely_ above where his knot ached for pressure. The maiden gurgled and sobbed as if in equal torment. “Like that… like that… oh, precious, I’m going to fill you so full…”

“ _Pleeeeease_ …”

“Little more,” he panted. “Oh… _oh_ …”

Gripping the maiden’s hips with his front claws, Diorite hunched hard on top of it and fucked feverishly. Nearly— nearly— its arse was tight and tight and— _there_! With a violent thrust he forced in the last girthy span of his cock. Its hole closed around his base and the slick lips of his cloaca squelched against its buttocks, and even so he wanted to force himself in _deeper_. The maiden screamed, writhing beneath him, but its kicking and clawing didn’t matter except for how its guts clenched around his cock. Hot, squirming, clutching: there was nothing so sweet as a chalice’s guts. He wanted ten— twenty— a _hundred_ throbbing holes, swollen and drooling—

Diorite could barely breathe as the tension in him tipped over into the sweet downhill slide to orgasm. Just past the tight ring of its distended hole his knot began to swell, locking them together. Tighter it got, tighter, squeezing him just so, and his eyes rolled back.

The maiden’s voice and Gwareth’s raised together, one in high-pitched agony and the other in desperation. It was like fucking them both. “Stop,” Gwareth was begging, “stop, you’re hurting her, stop, stop! Shh, it’s okay— oh _god_ — _please!_ ”

He jerked his hips in short sweet strokes to plunder out the last lick of pleasure, and the maiden’s clenching hole did the rest for him, milking his cock. Pleasure peaked sharply and Diorite’s egg sac contracted so hard that he roared with shock and ecstasy.

The blinding rush of ejaculation left him dizzy, moaning. His world was reduced to the throb of eggs and slick pumping through his cock, filling the maiden one gush at a time.

“ _Uuuuhhh— uuughh— nnnughh, no— **uuughhnn**_ —”

They were so delicious when they cried, humans were. When they reached the point of incoherence, when there was nothing in their world or mind or body except his cock, stuffing them full, and all they could do was drool and gurgle and scream. And take it.

Could he pump one all the way full, Diorite wondered. So deep, so full it came out the other end?

A final sharp wave of pleasure peaked through him at the thought, then faded into weak afterglow. He groaned pleasurably.

When he reached underneath to feel, the maiden’s belly was bulging and heavy, swollen. He thrust one last time, experimentally, and even with his rough insensible paw felt a bulge shift on one side of its belly.

The maiden twitched around him. A ripple of contraction through its guts: a weak attempted push. Diorite tugged it back securely, ensuring it remained impaled. Eggs shifted against the tip of his cock.

“Nuhh,” it groaned, hoarse and weak. It lay pillowed against Gwareth’s chest, limp except for its violent shaking. “Nnnnh…”

“Stop it,” Gwareth whispered, its face streaked with tears. “Stop it, leave her alone.”

“When I’m done,” Diorite sighed. His knot was beginning to soften but he held the maiden in place. He rolled his hips, relishing the looser, wetter slide of its guts around his softening shaft. _Sensitive_. Sweet. He hissed.

Slowly his cock retracted, easing down its passage. Fluid trickled out around his shaft, through the maiden’s stretched and softened hole, until the soft bulge of his cockhead popped free and a gush was released. The maiden collapsed completely on top of Gwareth with an anguished groan, its eyes rolling back. Its legs spasmed uncontrollably.

There was blood amidst the slick. Diorite huffed in concern and slipped his tongue in to direct a pulse of healing magic. He’d gotten so used to Gwareth’s arse, stretched and straightened and so accommodating of his massive shaft, that he’d forgotten how delicate humans were.

Satisfied when the maiden’s noise diminished, Diorite reclined against a heap of rusted iron to bask. He left the maiden to Gwareth, who was frantically whispering and stroking its hair. They made a tender little picture, trembling and tangled together. Equally wrecked.

If only Gwareth was leaking cum and eggs too. Then it would be perfect.

“Diorite?”

The cautious voice was Gwareth. He glanced up to see Gwareth sitting up, holding the maiden curled against his chest. It was hiding its face, holding its distended belly in pain. As he watched, a contraction rippled through the maiden; a number of eggs squelched out of its hole and it sobbed, covering its face further with a hand.

“Are you going to let her go? You’re… done with her, right?”

“For now.”

“But will you let her go? Please?”

Diorite chuckled. “Whyever would I? Now I have two pretty chalices.”

“You can’t keep her. I mean, you shouldn’t,” Gwareth corrected hastily. “Look, honestly— There’s no room. She’ll only take up space.”

Diorite’s ear swivelled back in consternation. Blast. The squire was… He glanced around his cave and saw no way to make it _not_ true. His hoard was still too small, but humans were a type of treasure that took up more space than they ought. He’d have to chain them far enough apart that they couldn’t fuss with each other’s shackles. And the damned wood pile would get bigger.

He’d have to bring more food, too— and every day. Gwareth got cranky if it didn’t eat once a day.

“Please,” Gwareth said. “Please, you can let her go. We— she did what you wanted. She did it… so well. Didn’t she?”

“Did she?” Diorite nosed Gwareth’s thigh, toward its groin. Its cock was soft for once, nestled like a fat pearl between its folds.

“Yes,” Gwareth choked. “She did. I’m… satisfied.”

“Want to cum again?”

Gwareth’s face twitched. “I don’t need to,” it said carefully. “Please, don’t make me. I want you— I want you to do it. If you want. I’ll do it whenever you want, I’ll beg, just please, we don’t need her.”

“We?” Diorite asked delicately.

“I’ll do what you want,” Gwareth said, voice trembling. “Just let her go. Let her live. She’s more work than you want, isn’t she? You— you took her virginity. It— was good. But you’re done, right? You can’t use her any more.”

Diorite cocked his head. “I could.” Gwareth’s arms tightened. “But it’s you, squire. She was for you. Have you learned? Are you not grateful?”

“Yes,” Gwareth said desperately. “Yes, I understand. It’s— I’ll listen. I’ll do what you want, and you’re— you’re good to me. So good.” Its voice broke. “Please let her go. She won’t tell anyone. Will you?”

Greed seized Diorite: the lust for reputation. For respect. Orthoclase’s wrath had left survivors who spoke of her might; so had Aegerine’s magic. And it was from the words of those survivors that legend spread.

“She can tell who she likes. In fact— tell them all. Let them know the Blue Caldera belongs to Diorite the Great.”

Another idea occurred— even better! He nudged the maiden’s shoulder to make sure she was listening.

“And unless they want I should come again and take another pretty maiden and her virginity away… they must send me tribute. Gold. Every time the moon comes full. I’ll be merciful… just a little gold. But it must come every moon. Tell them. Yes?”

“Yes,” the maiden whispered. “Yes, all right, yes. I will, yes. I swear. Thank you— th-thank you.”

“Thank you,” Gwareth said, and oh, there had never been such gratitude in its eyes. Gaining obedience and worship in his first chalice was worth losing a second.

And if its obedience faltered? Diorite could teach this lesson a second time. Fucking a virgin arse was no hardship.

It took some while for the maiden to be ready, but Diorite was patient. Slowly it dressed, tying its laces with shaking fingers while pearly slick trickled down its ankles. Terrified as it was, it could barely take a step toward him to come out of the cave.

He was tired, but the flight was short and he had pleasant thoughts to reflect on.

He dropped the maiden lightly in the grassy field where he had found it, scant hours after they had left. Its legs buckled and it crumpled to the ground. As it lay there sobbing, Diorite did debate simply taking a few bites. It was easy prey. Gwareth would never know.

But he wasn’t _that_ hungry. The prospect of spreading his reputation meant more.

“Remember,” he said, and nudged its curled body. “Tell them. At the moon— my tribute. Gold.”


End file.
